


All Through The Night

by Love_you_a_latte



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_you_a_latte/pseuds/Love_you_a_latte
Summary: You are the daughter of a mob boss who finds comfort in the night, when things are hidden away. Bruce Wayne feels the same, but he's hiding for different reasons. Your inside knowledge and expertise combined with Batman's keeps your father on his toes, but it won't be long before the mob boss figures it out.And it won't be long before Bruce Wayne realizes he's been falling for you since the first day you came running into the night for safety.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Reader, Bruce Wayne & Reader, Bruce Wayne/Reader, Bruce Wayne/You
Comments: 31
Kudos: 178





	1. Chapter 1

The world was pitch black and cold, except for the columns of light that came from Gotham city's street lamps. They lit up the snow in white flurries, massive flakes sparkling as they drifted to the ground. The air even smelled cold, and it seemed to cut right through any outerwear like a knife, chilling the bones of the city's residents. Not many people were out, though. It was the day after Christmas, when families weren't quite sure what to do. School was out, and they had taken days off work, but by now the toys had been opened and all of the excitement that built up to Christmas morning had dissipated, leaving a contented, disoriented world of old wrapping paper and leftovers from the massive dinners the night before. It was a quiet time, when people began to emerge from the holiday glow and prepare for New Year's Eve parties. 

Now, you were standing under a lamp on a street corner in the middle of Gotham city, waiting. You pulled your thin coat closer to your shivering form and watched your breath take the shape of clouds as it left your nose. You took long, slow breaths to try and regulate your temperature, but a pair of jeans, a wool jacket that served more for aesthetic than warmth, and some Adidas didn't exactly help with thermoregulation. You gazed at the snow falling softly around you, and couldn't help but smile to yourself when you realized it looked just like you were in a snow globe. It was really beautiful.

That was how the Bat of Gotham found you, under the streetlamp in the darkness.

Watching snow fall. You didn't notice him until he was a yard away from you, the faint glow emanating from the edges of the rays of light dancing across his hard face. Or, at least, whatever you could see of his face.

"Hello," you whispered, a small smile on your face. You had almost forgotten why you were here. Almost forgotten who you were. Almost.

He didn't respond, just stayed there, cold blue eyes watching you. With a sigh, you unwrapped your arms from your torso and reached into your left coat pocket, moving past the pennies and receipts and paper clips to pull out a message written on a Post-It note in Sharpie. He nodded, and reached out to take it, but you yanked your hand back before he could.

"I have one condition," you said in response to his look of disappointment. He stepped back and crossed his arms.

"There's this girl. Her name's Sonya. She doesn't belong with us. She... I think my father kidnapped her. Or maybe he bought her. I don't know. But either way, she doesn't deserve to be in the thick of it all." You breathed in sharply, harsh memories of your own fractured childhood playing like broken records in your mind. "I want you to take her out of there. I don't care how, or what you need me to do, but just get her out."

You stared at the Bat in silence for awhile, watching the gears in his brain turn. He seemed to have realized something, though you didn't know what, and held his hand out again for the paper.

"Don't you need something more to identify her?"

When he didn't reply, you sighed again.

"Fine. You'll do it?" He nodded quickly, reaching farther forward. You placed the Post-It in his hand, your small, bare fingertips brushing against his large gloved ones.

"Thank you," you breathed, and he was gone. You were alone again in your snow globe of light, the cold creeping in on your soul. You shivered, collected yourself, and took off into the darkness, just like Batman had.

❈

You were silent as you rushed through the halls of your father's house, walking with the trained steps of a woman who needed to stay hidden. You still had a difficult time referring to this massive underground structure as "home", though it was fitted with carpet and furniture like any house. You had grown up here, beneath the ground, tucked away from the light. It was safer here, you supposed, for a woman like you. But the feeling of security, tall ceilings, and immaculate interior decor did nothing to make you love it. In fact, you didn't even like it. The Dungeon, as you affectionately referred to it in your quiet ramblings, was extensive, and spanned the line of rowhomes on your block. It had many bedrooms, offices, and a kitchens, including a massive living room for entertaining guests, but it was hard to disguise the stench of imprisonment. A level below the living and working spaces were the real working spaces: cells and torture chambers and fighting rings and storage closets with boxes upon boxes of illegal contraband. You avoided the lower levels when possible. 

When you were little, barely six, you had visited those lower levels. You always wanted to see what was down there, and you managed to snag an opportunity to follow an irresponsible uncle downstairs. You had wandered the halls, listening to the screams and sobs and cries, watched prisoners indebted to your father pass your line of sight, smelled the way the flesh rotted off their bones. You hadn't gotten far before somebody noticed, and your father intervened. But you had seen enough.

Since that night, you only went back when needed. Your father wouldn't say no to you visiting the lower level, but he wouldn't be pleased, and neither would you. It was disgusting and scarring, and you didn't care to relive the few moments you had spent down there. So, you pretended it didn't exist. Until now.

You were sure everyone in the elevator could sense your anxiety washing over you in waves. But even if they did, they said nothing. Speaking with the King's daughter was bad news, so they simply nodded respectfully, and made sure you got where you needed to go.

When you reached the lower level, you rushed past all the rooms you didn't want to see, narrowing in on the fourth to the right. You opened the door and entered into a fully-furnished bedroom that looked like it had been decorated by a fifty-year-old man (which it had). But, sitting on the queen mattress was a little girl, no more than ten. She stared vacantly at the blank flat screen bolted into the wall, her arms laying still at her side, hands clasped around the fabric of her cargo pants. When Sonya had arrived, Caroline, your aunt, had asked how you knew that she had been bought. You had replied that your father shared more of his finances than she realized, but in reality, you had seen too many faces pass through here to not recognize the eyes of a girl who had been trafficked. It broke your heart, but you stayed strong. For Sonya. She needed someone she could depend on.

"Sonya," you said, hand still on the doorknob. She turned, green eyes glazed, barely able to focus on you.

"Sonya, come with me."

She obeyed, her feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. She didn't look at you, just followed closely behind as you led her back through the lower level. You had already cleared this with your father; you had convinced him Sonya could use a bath if anyone was going to see her. He had disagreed strongly at first, but one good look at her ratted brown hair and grime-smeared face settled the matter. 

But instead of taking her to your bathroom to bathe her, you led Sonya up another level to the vacant house above. It was nothing but a shell with walls and a roof, without even a door. She didn't say anything, didn't ask where you were going or why, just maintained the detached expression on her face. It made you want to scream. You hated to see a little girl like this.

Once your skin hit the freezing, unhindered air, you took a moment to observe the street around you. It was silent, rowhomes standing like stony guards over the pavement. But in the shadows just around the corner, something stirred.

"Did you see that?" You asked softly, lifting a single finger to point in the direction of where the shadows had sprung to life. Sonya nodded slowly.

"Go over there. A friend will take you far away from here, where you'll be safe."

Sonya looked up at you now, confusion and panic etched into those not-so-child-like features. You smiled a sad smile, and nodded.

"Get as far away from here as you can," you murmered, and placed a hand on her back in reassurance. With one last look, she took off running down the sidewalk, bare feet slapping against the cold stone. You weren't satisfied until she disappeared into the shadow and left you standing alone under the winter moon.

You knew you would lose credit with your father once Sonya turned out to be missing, but you didn't care. All you cared about was that the shadows kept her safe.

Most people avoided the night, because it hid the ones they feared. You loved the night, because it protected you. The shadows kept you safe, and had never failed you. So it was in the shadows you relied.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We know who you are to Batman, but who are you to Bruce Wayne?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Not a lot of people are following this, but I really like the story, so I'm continuing it for myself.  
> Still, I hope you enjoy!

You had little memory of the first time you met Batman. It was a whirlwind of a night, you knew, and a man in a cowl and cape was the least of your worries at the time. You did vaguely remember fighting over a rooftop.

"Get your own roof," you must have said. You remembered that it was the night your father was receiving a massive ivory shipment by way of Kathmandu, and you needed a good vantage point to gather evidence. Creating a case against the King of Gotham was dangerous to say the least, but you knew that no one else would do it if you didn't. No one else had the resources, or the protection.

When the caped crusader hadn't replied, you whirled on him, blood boiling. Watching the murder of five men who you had passed multiple times as they rotted in their cells had done something to you, and you weren't in the mood to play games. Regular murder was wearing on you.

"I said, get your own roof. Are you deaf?"

He didn't falter, didn't even glance your way.

"Listen asshole, I have a mission to accomplish here. I don't need anyone getting in my way."

"Didn't know the Gotham Times sent hotshot reporters before calling the police," he muttered, and you were fuming. To be fair, you had a disposable camera and pad and pen in your hand.

"I'm not some reporter," you hissed, struggling to keep your voice low. "And I'm a little busy. So you can move the hell out of my way, or be moved."

"If you're not some reporter," he continued unfazed, "then we're here for the same reason. If you give me your camera and notes, I can turn it into the police. They'll think it was me who took the photos."

You didn't know how Batman had realized that you couldn't go to the police, or why he was doing this, or if you could trust him, but you had to take a chance. The shadows had given you a way out, so you took it.

"Good." Was all you said in thanks, dropping the items into his gloved hands. You left him behind on the rooftop, where the wind whistled and the stars were just a little clearer. You had to be home to greet your father, after all.

You couldn't remember if that's exactly how the conversation went, or how many more times you quarreled -- or, rather, you yelled, and he watched -- on rooftops and in the shadows. And you also didn't remember when exactly you had agreed to feed him information on your father, but you did remember the faces of people you had delivered to him, and the look in their eyes when they realized it was all going to be okay. Sonya's, in particular, would stay with you for a lifetime.

Although you knew next to nothing about the Dark Knight, you could tell from experience that he was effective and a better option for taking down a criminal empire than you, so you chose to trust him. Just a little. It had been three years or so since your first meeting, and not much had changed. You didn't yell at him anymore, and maybe it was time or the fact that you were exhausted, but you spent most of your moments together wishing he would stay. As the "Princess" of the city, you could trust no one. You had no friends, and too much family. To have an ally, even if he was remarkably quiet, felt like a cool breeze in the dead of summer, when you can feel yourself melting into the pavement. Every once in a while, when you'd spend a night atop the rowhomes that marked your father's underground empire, he would appear. And you and Batman would talk. Usually about your next move, or about the people you had rescued together. Tonight, it was about Sonya.

"We found her a group rehabilitation home. It's not ideal, but she's safe," he said, and you nodded. The freezing winter wind picked up and you shivered, once again regretting your choice of clothing. A hoodie didn't do much in the way of keeping you warm.

"I'm glad," you murmered, eyes vacant, mind elsewhere. You wanted to be present in this moment, wanted to soak up everything he had to say about the girl, but you couldn't.

Your Aunt Caroline's favorite prostitute, whom you were asked to refer to as "Uncle Benjamin", had died in your living room just moments ago, and you couldn't get the image of his wide eyes pleading for help out of your mind. You held it together around your father's "colleagues", but the second you were on these rooftops, watching the fallen snow swirl upward with the winter wind, and the city lights disappear behind fog, you lost control of your expressions.

"He killed another one, didn't he?"

You nodded silently, eyes focused on one point far, far away.

"My Uncle Benjamin. He wasn't my uncle, so it doesn't matter, but Aunt Caroline's gonna miss him." You didn't bother to explain fully. The fact that you had mentioned it at all was bad enough; you didn't need anyone knowing about your personal life. 

"If he keeps it up at this rate, he's not gonna have any employees."

You chuckled dryly, and let your head fall bad against the cold metal of the air duct behind you, watching the sky begin to turn light. It was nearly morning.

"Anything else for me?" He asked from his perch on the edge of the roof, eyes also roaming the skyline.

"Nah. I'll let you know."

He nodded quickly and left then, disappearing into the shadows. You knew it wouldn't be long until you saw him again.

❈

The gala was full of gorgeous gowns and important people. It was Bruce Wayne's home turf, but also yours.

To the city of Gotham, your father was a businessman, one who dealt in real estate and owned the other half of the city that didn't already have the name "Wayne" on its lease. And you were his daughter, his prized possession, whose mother had drowned tragically on their return trip from Guatemala after giving birth to you. You were often the star of the show, and everyone wanted a piece. The daughter of a very rich man, single, poised and elegant and dangerous. The perfect match for someone who wanted to step up in Gotham's social ladder and a large inheritance. Your father played the part of the doting dad, praising you and placing you under the spotlight. It was a sick strategy, one that not only put you in the position to make contacts he wanted, but also to keep scrutiny off himself. It worked.

You were dressed like everyone there, no detail unnoticed, no nail unpainted, no hair misplaced. You knew how to clean up, and you knew how to steal the show. Your floor-length royal blue gown was simple, but revealing in all the right ways. Your father had said that royalty deserved a fitting color, and you barely managed to keep your cringing inside. You didn't like to be called royalty. Your father may have owned the city, and controlled the crime world with an iron fist, but you didn't want any part of that crown.

"Ah, Mister Dimitri. And Miss [Y/N]. What a pleasure."

Bruce Wayne was dressed to the nines, as always, his signature smile and expensive watch catching the light. He was more show than tell, and by the time you finished talking to him, you wondered if you'd actually learned anything about him at all. That was the Wayne way, and like a politician, he couldn't be caught. Those blue eyes spoke volumes to his soul but you didn't look, afraid that you might say something you'd regret later. Holding a conversation with a man you'd barely met as if you'd known him for years would not be a good look on you.

"Mr. Wayne, the pleasure is all mine," your father said, stepping down from his glittering pedestal to shake the hand of the man who was destroying his empire under the cover of night. "If you'll excuse me, and I'm terribly sorry for this interruption, but I have to make contact with Mr. Wells before he leaves," he entreated, and the entire gala grew quiet, waiting with baited breaths. They all knew your father's game. Gotham wanted you married to Bruce Wayne, and it was no secret. You were the princess of the city's high society, and he was the King. It was a perfect match, they whispered in their homes under daylight, and your father agreed.

"No trouble at all, Mr. Dimitri. It is always a pleasure to entertain your daughter."

You could hear the cheerful chatter and suppressed squeals around you, but ignored them, nodding a goodbye to your father. Suddenly, you were alone with Bruce Wayne, and the whole room had eyes on you.

"How are you tonight, Ms. [Y/N]?" He asked, and for a fleeting moment, something passed between you with a flash in your eyes that spoke of mischief. You managed to surpress your grin, but his betrayed him in the slight upturning of his lips.

"I am very well, thank you. This is a beautiful party. I'll have to ask you for the decorator's name."

"Well thank you. I have it right here, in fact," he began, hand disappearing under his jacket to pull out a small pad of paper and a pen and you laughed with your eyes. It was the same one you had so unceremoniously dropped in his hands the first night you met. The pad had, and always was, a secret clue to each other that your meeting in public (under the personas of [Y/N] Dimitri and Bruce Wayne) was more than that. It was an exchange of information. He wrote quickly and handed you the paper to look over.

"Need information on a trafficking ring on the south side" it read, and you feigned surprise.

"Oh, I know this name!" You said excitedly, and no one would know you were referring to a criminal business. "I was looking into hiring her a few years back, but decided on another woman instead. I'll have to reevaluate."

Every word was a code, every glance had a double meaning, and each smile was something more. Bruce Wayne knew you'd be getting back to him.

"Now, I apologise, but would you mind carrying the note for me for the evening? My dress doesn't exactly have room for folded paper."

When he smiled and slipped it back into his jacket, you could hear the oohs and ahs.

"He's so sweet to her," you swore you heard one woman say, and by the way his eye danced in silent laughter, you were right.

"Ms. [Y/N], if you don't mind my asking, I would love to have both you and your father over for dinner at Wayne Manor. I know it's a bit forward, but I've been meaning to invite you for some time."

There was an audible gasp.

"I'd be ecstatic to visit your home, Mr. Wayne," you began, and the wives of Gotham leaned farther forward with every word. "However, you will have to extend your invitation to my father."

The room sighed in disappointment, but the men nodded in approval. You wouldn't let your etiquette slip.

"Of course, my faux pas. Once he is detached, I'll speak with him."

Your father wasn't detached at the moment, but he was, without a doubt, listening.

"In the mean time," Bruce Wayne continued, "I'd love to have this dance with you."

Another collective gasp.

"And I'd love to accept," you responded, and let him escort you to the middle of the hall were a solitary few men and women were already swaying on delicate feet. This would be a night for the Gotham gossips' history books -- Bruce Wayne dancing with the daughter of Dimitri! But it was all a game to you and Bruce. The lights and noise and eyes trained on you as you danced never fazed you. 

His hand was at your waist, the other clasping yours and you held on, stepping in time with the music. He pulled you a little closer than was necessary, a move the high society would be gabbing about for days, mistaken for romance. But you knew it was just fooling around, teasing the world about a secret only you shared. No one would know that you were plotting to take down the biggest crime lord in Gotham, or anything else about what went on in the shadows.

For awhile, you danced slowly, eyes rarely leaving each other, caught up in the game of it all. And for those moments, you could forget about the danger and the risk, knowing only the dancefloor and your partner. For those moments, you were his royalty, not your father's.

After all, he was the Knight of Gotham, and you were the princess of the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! If you liked it, please leave kudos and a comment!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night for your date at the Wayne Manor has arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Yes, I am still continuing this, and I really hope you like it.  
> I apologise in advance, because I really know very little about the Wayne boys, so please correct me on their characters if I'm wrong.

Usually, when a car passes a graveyard, there is a solemn silence that follows. A moment where the vehicle's passengers watch the upright stones fly past their windows, and remember things that have been buried six feet under. After the wrought iron fencing and stone walls pass, the car is returned to its previous state, with just a little extra baggage.

Graveyards themselves have a unique feeling. They are so empty and yet so full, so quiet and yet so loud. Cold and yet filled with unnatural warmth. The air is always still, and the colors are always more vibrant than they should be. Gotham graveyards in particular were another world. It never seemed to rain on them, despite the constant drizzle that pervaded the rest of the city, but fog still settled in its place, weaving in between the headstones and flowers.

Usually, when you passed a graveyard, it was with purpose, and never in a car. Riding in one of your father's expensive pieces meant attention and the presence of a chauffer, neither of which you desired. Instead, you wandered along the outskirts of Gotham on foot until you discovered a graveyard, and went inside. It was a tradition of yours; whenever the rooftops and shadows of Gotham failed to bring you peace, you went walking, searching for the wrought iron and stone gates that welcomed you.

Gotham graveyards were arguably eerie, but you felt safe, out of sight and out of mind. You'd walk among the stones and collect dead flowers and pull at weeds (management staff were rarely present. Maintaining graves was the furthest thing on Gotham's mind). It cleared your head, and made you feel like you were accomplishing something. You had spent your whole life absorbing the evil crime underworld and its stench, that it often felt as though you were full of darkness, and nothing you could do would take it away. But, caring for the graves of people you never knew, and some who you did, chipped away at that darkness, and helped you feel alive again. Sometimes, your father would find you, and pretend not to notice the name hovering in front of your feet that was suspiciously similar to one of the many men whose lives he had taken, another name that tattooed itself on his soul, another name he had forgotten, but would always stay with him. Whether he could see how much you hated your inner darkness or not, he didn't change. Never wavered, never stopped involving you in his work. You didn't know if he had any idea how the roots of his poisoned life dug into your being, causing cracks in your heart and a dry, aching feeling in your chest. You had seen too much, known too much. Maybe that's why he trusted you, because he knew this lifestyle never truly left. Even if you escaped from its habits, the cracks it caused never fully healed.

It wasn't your father who found you today in one of Gotham's graveyards, where the winter frost remembered your footprints and the icy breezes cut through your clothes. You could hear Bruce Wayne coming from a mile away, but chose to ignore him, numb fingers scratching at dead moss that had frozen into the words etched in stone decades ago. You were crouched down uncomfortably in your leather skirt, shivering, though your thermal leggings and jacket were warm. 

"We found the trafficking ring. Your tip was spot-on." He said, lowering himself on steady legs to pluck the frost-bitten, ancient flowers from the metal ring that stuck out from the gravestone you were currently cleaning.

"Good," was all you said, resisting the urge to slacken your jaw and let your teeth chatter.

"William Janesburg, 1937 to 1961," your companion read, pulling petal after petal from its frozen stem. He cradled each in his hand before stuffing them in the pocket of his very expensive gray coat. His coat matched the sky, you realized.

"Janesburg was a rival mob boss. Murdered by my grandfather," you explained. If he didn't already know your family lineage down to Adam and Eve, he did now. Anyone who had lived in Gotham for a year or more knew about Janesburg, and knew about your grandfather. Not everyone knew he had a son, however, or that that son was their favorite real estate man named Dimitri, your father. And certainly no one knew that Dimitri was the mob King only spoken of in whispers between sunrise and sunset from beneath the light of a TV screen, while watching the photographs of murders and robberies flash by in milliseconds. Except for Bruce Wayne. And Alfred, of course. And probably the Wayne children.

"Alfred's making your favorite for tonight," he said, alluding to the dinner date at Wayne Manor.

"It's a good thing my father has no idea what my favorite dish is, then," you chuckled dryly. It would be difficult enough for the entire household to pretend like they didn't know you, but if your favorite dish was suddenly the main course, your father might catch wind of something. But, like everything else in your life, your father only knew a little truth. Every detail he thought he knew was a lie, including your favorite food. He didn't really know you, and you kept it that way.

"Let's just hope the boys don't screw up," you said, and Bruce might have been a little put off if he didn't see the beginnings of a smile in your beautiful eyes. He scoffed.

"They would never," he said sarcastically, and your smile broke free. It was a hesitant one, and didn't last long, but for a moment, you were caught up in the joy of family.

You drew in a sharp breath, and stood.

"[Y/N]?"

"I have to go." You pushed past him at almost a jog, desperate to get back home, where your trauma-ridden brain would take over and shut your emotions down.

Bruce Wayne didn't try to stop you, just stood there, wondering what had gone wrong. He had no idea how terrified you were. No idea how you had realized that the Wayne family suddenly felt like your own. That when you thought of them, it was with a fondness you refused to call love. No, the word love could never exist in a darkness like yours.

Love was too tender a thing for a princess of shadows.

❈

Jason is yelling at Dick from the bottom of the stairs, something about "keep your mouth shut, or you'll end up giving it all away", Tim is struggling with one of his father's ties, practically vibrating in frustration, and Damian is standing next to his father placidly, something between a glare and a smirk on his face. Bruce himself, having just entered the room, has eyes glued to you, and a mildly panicked expression on his face. Or, at least, as panicked as Bruce Wayne can look upon realizing that his guests are early, and his household is falling apart.

"Boys!" He yells, and it doesn't take long for the Wayne family to compose themselves.

"I'll just be taking your coats," Alfred says to you and your father, who nods with a smile. A smile that, when turned upon Gotham's favorites, was warm and amiable, but quickly became ice under the cover of darkness.

"I apologise for the actions of my brothers," Damian says, stepping forward to offer his hand before Bruce can say anything. You nod and shake it after your father, and the youngest Wayne's smile nearly tells everything.

"Yes, I'm sorry," his father steps in, hand outstretched. "My household isn't usually this--" he glared at Jason and Dick in turn -- "unruly." Damian's grin grew.

He shakes your father's hand, commenting on his tie (which was a gift from Wayne Manor years ago, before you met Batman, and before you really met Bruce). He then steps up to you, and it doesn't take much to hold back your smile. After significant self-coaching in your bedroom, you were detached from most of your emotions, ignoring how much you wanted to hug the man before you and then his children, one by one. Bruce Wayne was not put off by your empty eyes, however.

"You look radiant as always, Ms. Dimitri," he said, voice lowering, gazing at you from under dark lashes. You shook his hand lightly, a polite smile on your painted lips. You hated the name Dimitri, something Bruce knew, but couldn't avoid it without breaking social etiquette.

"As you look handsome," you replied, sensing your father's satisfied smirk.

"Won't you come in?" He offered, leading you into the seating parlor. The boys followed, watching you pretend to see the room for the first time, as if there wasn't a blood stain hidden under the right-hand armchair that carried your DNA.

"I told you not to get involved."

"And I told you that I was tired of living in the shadows. No one recognized me, and if they did, they're dead now anyway. Have you seen the News? No one survived the explosion."

"So, you have time to check the News, but not enough time to bandage a gaping wound in your side?"

"It's not gaping, Bruce, just a scratch. Besides, what are you for?"

"What a beautiful work!" Your father said, eyes tracing across a painting framed above the active fireplace. "MacKenzie?" He asked, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. MacKenzie was a little-known Gotham artist, one who also painted in a wide range of styles. By mentioning that name, your father had revealed that he not only knew the art scene (a lie), but was also aware of MacKenzie's many capabilities (another lie). Oh, high society and its complexities. You exchanged an exasperated look with Damian, who had also realized your father's attempt to make himself seem more sophisticated than he was. Everyone in the room knew he was the mob king, so there was no redeeming qualities about knowing art. The Wayne's and yourself couldn't be swayed.

"In fact, it's his brother, who took his wife's maiden name. L'oveure," Bruce replied.

Your father's mouth gaped in mock shock and interest, and Tim snorted under his breath beside you. You shifted your weight so that you could lightly kick his shin, and Jason's face, which had been previously focused on judging your father, was now alight with barely-contained laughter. There was no brother to MacKenzie, but your father would think there was. He never had time to do real research (MacKenzie was probably the only name he knew besides Picasso), so he'd never verify it.

"Won't you sit down?" Bruce offered, and you carefully lowered yourself onto the nearest sofa. Your father joined you on the sofa to your left, and Damian perched himself in a smaller chair to your right. The remaining Wayne family quickly settled into their seats opposite you, and you and Bruce shared a look that meant something like:

"Did you practice sitting down?"

"Of course I did, you know how they fight."

The room grew quiet for a moment while you and your father observed the sitting room some more. It was simple; white wool carpet, red walls, furniture older than everyone in the room combined, and golden frames on each wall. Without any windows, the fireplace was the only source of light, and it made the room feel cozy and inviting.

Your father didn't waste long striking up conversation with Bruce, and you spent that time pretending to be engaged while glaring at the various Wayne children the more they snickered and whispered, praying to every god that they would behave.

You had met the boys much like you had met their dad; on rooftops and amongst the shadows. They worked alongside you, but you didn't involve them in the more gory sides of your life. They were still young, and maybe tough as nails, too, but you knew from firsthand experience what your father's work did to a kid. So you kept them at arms' length during the nights when you snuck around, only letting them closer when the doors to Wayne Manor were shut and the safety of the Batcave welcomed you. Then, you changed, and become someone they knew, someone who laughed with them, fought with them, but also kept them in line. Most people had a hard time gaining the boys' trust, but when they found you in the Batcave delivering information and assumed you had broken in, a bond had formed (after they realized you meant no real harm). Bruce never bothered to correct them. To the Wayne kids, you were the only woman capable of breaking into the Batcave, and the only one who could sneak cookies from a jar behind Alfred's back without getting a swift jab to the ribs. To the Wayne kids, you were the daughter of the mob king turned friend, who showed up at the Manor at the most random times, often locking yourself in Bruce's office to discuss business (much to their disappointment). They knew you and their father were working to take down Dimitri, and after Tim bugged the office, they learned most of your plans and your father's plans. So, keeping them quiet around the crime lord was a challenge to say the least.

"Mr. Dimitri," Dick interjected, and both you and Bruce sent him a warning look. Unruffled by the interruption, your father smiled.

"Yes, Damian?"

"I'm Dick."

Thank goodness the kid moved on quickly, because your father seemed to be at a loss for words. Dick's intense gaze could be disarming.

"I was wondering, what exactly do you do?" He continued, and the whole room waited in tense silence. If looks could kill, the brat would have died five times over from the glares his family (and you) sent his way.

"Well, young man, I'm in real estate. I buy properties and turn them back out, sometimes renovating."

Dick nodded as if he was deep in thought, and you and Bruce shared an anxious look.

"Mr. Dimitri and Ms. [Y/N]," dinner is served."

Alfeed, the godsend, appeared in the parlor at that moment, and you and Bruce let out sighs of relief.

"Thank you, Alfred," he said, and led the group into the dining room. Your father was caught up talking to Dick again, and you would have intervened if you didn't feel Bruce's hand on your back. It felt like electricity coursing through your bloodstream. You slowed your pace just a little so that you were walking with him behind everyone else.

"That was a close one," he murmured, and you nodded, eyes still on your father.

"If they keep this up, I might have to leave the country," you quipped, but no laughter followed. You both knew what would happen if there was a slip-up tonight, and it was much less mild than a change of scenery.

"I'll keep one eye on them, and you keep another." 

You nodded again, and fell into an easy rhythm on the way to the dining room. You desperately wanted to curl into Bruce's side and stay there, hidden from the world, where your father couldn't touch you. But the name Dimitri was as emblazoned on your soul as the names of his victims were on his, forever a part of your shared DNA.

But what other name could you take?

Certainly not Wayne.

Certainly not.

[Y/N] Wayne was out of the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading!  
> If you liked it, or didn't, please leave a comment telling me why! And kudos, if you'd like.  
> Jeg elsker deg ♥️


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We dig a little deeper into the history of Batman and his rival's daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves!!  
> This chapter is a bit shorter (though I'm proud it's exactly 1600 words), but someone requested I write the moment when Bruce Wayne and Batman became the same person to the reader, so I had to get this out.  
> Enjoy!

"And then he was like 'I don't like fish! It's too... Fishy.'"

The story Tim was telling was not that funny, but it had the effect he desired: Dick was growing increasingly frustrated. No amount of warning looks from you could stop him. You had been there when Dick got his infectious teeth pulled, or at least afterwards, when the anesthetic was still wearing off. The poor kid hadn't really said anything embarrassing, but his siblings teased him relentlessly about it. Your father was watching with feigned interest, but real shock when Dick used his fork to fling a dollop of whipped cream at Tim's head. It landed smack on his nose, and it took Jason' quick reflexes to grab Tim by the seat of his pants and prevent him from fighting his brother. While your newly-crowned favorite Wayne child hauled Tim out of the dining room kicking and yelling, Bruce passed the plate of crepes to your father.

"Would you like more desert, Mr. Dimitri?"

Your father nodded and took some more, obviously confused as to why everyone was acting like nothing had happened. You pretended to be just as befuddled, but while your father was digging in to his newest crepe, you made eye contact with both remaining boys in a silent threat. When your eyes fell on Bruce, though, it took everything within you not to laugh.

Dinner had gone very well overall, if you didn't count all the sly comments referencing your father's "line of work" and the fight that had just almost broken out. Surprisingly, the Wayne's had remained composed and cool, and Damian had refrained from flaying your father to the bone with any pointed remarks. You were a little proud of them, though you wouldn't admit it.

By the time Jason returned with a red, fuming, albeit outwardly calm Tim, Mr. Dimitri was ready to leave. Formalities were exchanged, and you could almost feel your father's approval when Bruce kissed your hand. You tried not to think of how blue his eyes were, or how soft his lips felt on your skin.

When you waved goodbye to the Wayne family as you drove away, something tugged at your heart. That same something whispered in your ear, telling you that you belonged back there with them, not in this car that had been deep-cleaned so many times to get rid of the bloodstains and bullet casings. That same voice called forth the memory of Bruce Wayne's eyes on yours, smiling up at you as he kissed your hand, and the moment played over and over again in your head. You were so lost in it that you didn't notice the car pull up to the familiar line of rowhomes. You were so lost in it that you floated across the pavement and into the Underground, past the various family members and their respective prostitutes, past the many doors that led to dark places. You couldn't remember saying goodnight to your father, only that you were now in your room again, it's familiar red walls finally bringing you back to reality.

You had kept those walls red for this exact reason: whenever you lost focus, or found yourself hovering in the land of dreams, you could always return here to the plush bedroom gilded in crimson, reminded of the blood the dripped from your hands, that coated your insides, that turned your heart hard and made your mind go blank. You couldn't afford to lose focus, not now. Whatever this new feeling was, you wouldn't give in. You had seen too many shadows to be tempted by a little light.

By the time you had washed your face and brushed your teeth and changed into night clothes, by the time you had settled down and flicked off the light, you were ready for sleep. It came slowly, creeping up on your still body while you struggled to forget the joy of sitting at the dinner table with your... No. Not yours.

The Wayne family.

You reminded yourself, again and again, convinced that you only felt this way because they were the first people you had really interacted with as yourself. The emotions would pass, as they always did. For now, you let the dreams overtake you. If you had been awake, you would have chided yourself for those dreams. But reliving the moment you connected your Dark Knight and your suitor brought you some peace, and sent you into a deep rest that rarely came so easily.

❈

_You had been ignoring Bruce Wayne for some time now; it was simply second nature. About the time of your involvement with Batman, he had begun pestering you, which absolutely drove you up the wall. If Wayne was finally going to pursue you like Dimitri_ _hoped, why did he have to start right as things got trickier, as you hid your new nighttime routine from your father? But either way, he continued, asking you to dance at balls and galas, coming over for dinner with your father and attempting conversation, intercepting your path at the most inconvenient times, and you wondered if he was stalking you. But you kept right on ignoring him, never speaking more than a few syllables, hardly looking him in the eyes. You wouldn't give him the chance, not now. He had no idea who you really were, or how far deep into the crime world you lived, sitting at its bottom like a free-diver waiting for his air to run out. You had no choice, and maybe if you could choose, you would've married Bruce Wayne long ago to shut everyone up, and to escape your father. But there was work that needed to be done, toppling Dimitri's throne, so you paid Bruce no mind. Until today, that is._

_You had been walking, minding your own business, weaving through Gotham city's drowsy daytime crowd towards the jeweler's. You had been sent by your father to pick up a necklace, and you weren't about to be late. So when you collided with another body after taking a sharp turn, you were ready to jostle past and keep on going. But you knew those arms, the ones that had flown out to steady their owner upon crashing into you. Those arms, which had similarly steadied you after nearly falling off balconies while watching illegal drug shipments being loaded onto boats, those arms that were often folded in frustration when you yelled for no reason, looking for something to take your pain out on, those arms that you had watched land punch after punch in people you knew and regretted ever meeting. And you knew those eyes, too. Those eyes that had followed your every move that first night on the rooftop, those eyes that had been so full of laughter when you unceremoniously dropped your pen and paper and camera in those familiar arms, those eyes that had promised you safety for anyone you could ferry across from under your father's nose. You knew those strong arms, and those blue eyes. But what you hadn't realized before was the identity of their owner._

_"Bruce Wayne," you whispered, gaze locked with his. He was quick to dust you off and smile that classic Wayne smile, but the trepidation in his eyes revealed he knew something had changed in that instant._

_"I'm very sorry Ms. [Y/N]. I hope you're alright."_

_You had nodded dumbly before taking off again in the direction of the jeweler, forcing yourself to forget. You didn't see Bruce again until, nights later, he flicked on the light switch in his office to find you already seated in his chair. It was in that moment that he realized just how dangerous you were, and it was in that moment that you realized just how wrong you were about Bruce Wayne._

_"Batman," you had nodded amidst the scattered papers and mahogany desk, the leather office chair creaking as you leaned forward. He had nodded back silently, and made the wise choice to sit across from you. It was in the next hour that you wrote up your invisible contract._

_You would tell him what your father was up to, and how to bust his biggest gigs._

_He wouldn't give any sign that you were involved._

_You would develop a code, a way to communicate when the worlds' eyes were upon you, and you would stay away from Wayne Manor._

_Those rules had been easy enough to follow, except for the last one. It had been broken within a week, when Bruce had carried your battered body to the Batcave and patched you up (which was more like, you complaining, and him desperately trying to clean wounds that you kept covering). Three years later and the two of you hadn't changed much, just gotten closer. The contract was still the contract, and you still lived vastly different lives, struggling to keep the other informed and to coordinate attacks on your father. But sometimes, when the world slowed down and it didn't seem so loud, you'd be licking cookie dough from a spatula with Bruce's kids, or bringing flowers to place on Mr. and Mrs. Wayne's graves. Those moments were rare, and most of the time, you kept it professional to avoid suspiscion. But it wasn't easy for you to stay out of Bruce's life._

_Like it or not, you had made a home in those moments, when you weren't the princess of the shadows, and when he wasn't the knight of darkness. You were just Bruce and [Y/N], trying to live._

_Trying to be human._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it!!  
> I gotta say guys, I'm really loving writing this. Whether you're enjoying this story or not, I just like writing it. There's something cathartic about it.
> 
> As usual, please leave kudos and a comment if you liked it!!  
> Jeg elsker deg ♥️


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter probably isn't gonna be that good. It's late, and I've had a horrible week, yet for some reason the writing bug has bit me.

As soon as the ball dropped, and New Years' kisses were exchanged, and the drinks poured faster and tongues got looser, you abandoned the crowd to escape to the garden surrounding your father's favorite mansion, and pretended that the drunken yelling and singing was non-existent. If you imagined hard enough, it would be silent in the garden, and you'd be alone. But Batman's shadow followed you. So you lead him farther away from the mansion, and deeper into the gardens, where you knew no one could see you from the windows.

There was a spot just forty feet from the nearest balcony where the shrubs hid a walking path under their canopies, and you could have some privacy. It was there that Bruce met you, in the same darkness that usually accompanied your nighttime routines. You could still see the expensive suit he was wearing, though.

"We really shouldn't both be out here, leaving the boys on their own. I seriously doubt their ability to _not_ cause trouble," you quipped, and he chuckled.

"You're not wrong. But I'll take that risk."

You weren't really sure what he meant by that, and you thanked the shadows for masking your blush. But the moonlight was just present enough to dance across his beautiful blue eyes, and if you didn't have any dignity, you might stare at them all night.

"Something wrong?" He prompted, and you could hear the genuine question in his voice as he leaned forward slightly.

"No." You said quickly, shaking your head. Bruce didn't buy it, looking you up and down in a quick assessment. He had done that earlier, when you descended the stairs into the mansion's entertaining hall, dressed like a princess. He had gaped and gazed in awe (or at least you hoped it was awe, Bruce Wayne was not an easy man to read), and looked you up and down like he was seeing you for the first time. He'd seen you in dresses before, but maybe it was something in the moonlight that made him realize just how gorgeous you were. But now, his eyes were full of something more tender: concern.

You sighed, and turned to gaze through the foliage at your father's mansion.

"I feel trapped," you admitted, and though your mind and body screamed at you to shut up, the part of you that had held in laughter over dinner while watching the boys, the part of you that spent hours in conversation with Bruce from across the room using only your eyes, that part of you wanted to open up just a little. Because that part of you wanted to love. And, in all the time you'd watched people come in and out of the Underground, you'd learned about relationships. You'd learned that no great relationship, whether platonic or romantic, was built on lies. And Bruce, your one true friend, was not worth the risk of lying to.

"I can't ever leave this life," you clarified. "I have blood on my hands, Bruce. Innocent blood. And if I ever want to leave, the world'll expose me, and I'll be behind bars or worse."

You took a shaky breath.

"I hate this life that I'm living. Even if we take him down, even if we win this fight, my father will always have a hold on me. I can never clean the blood from my hands. So I'm resigned to be the princess of the Dimitri kingdom, and that is all I'll ever be."

A heavy silence followed, and you began to regret opening your mouth. This was the most open you'd ever been with Bruce, and it had clearly disarmed him a bit.

"No, [Y/N]," he said softly, and you shook your head before interrupting him.

"I've accepted it, Bruce," you said, letting the tears fall for the first time in a long time. "I cannot escape my family."

It was at that moment that Jason burst through the bushes, followed by his brothers. They were all in various stages of disarray, tailored suits flying off in pieces and eyes full of life.

"But these criminals aren't your family," Damian declared matter-of-factly, and Jason patted his shoulder in agreement. For your sake, you supposed, Damian didn't smack the hand away.

"We're your family," Jason confirmed, and Tim and Dick nodded vigorously.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The tears were still falling, and though you tried to stop them, it was too late. Dick flung himself into your arms, and you caught him amidst your crying. Jason and Tim joined soon after, cocooning you, and you could feel Damian's small hand on your back. You held on tight, letting the tears carry away the pain for just a moment, pretending that all that mattered was this family, _your_ family, in this moment. But reality crashed into you faster than you wanted it to.

"My father's going to notice that you're gone," you managed to choke out, and the boys slowly detached from your side. Jason nodded knowingly, and began herding his brothers back towards the mansion.

"We just wanted to check on you, then we were gonna head back," he clarified, shushing the disgruntled noises of the other three. You wanted to thank them, but by the time your throat had cleared and you found the words, they were already gone, leaving you watching the bushes that had absorbed them.

"I think it's my turn," a familiar deep voice said, and you were shocked to find yourself in the embrace of Bruce Wayne. His arms felt so strong and secure, that you melted into his toned chest. He smelled like expensive cologne and alcohol, smells that brought comforting memories of dances and nights spent fighting side-by-side with the billionaire.

You wanted to say something, anything, really, to cover up how embarrassed and awkward you felt, but nothing came to mind. Luckily, Bruce saved you.

"I noticed you didn't get a New Years' kiss," he prodded, and you choked out a laugh. You loved the way his chest rumbled at the inside joke; he knew how much you hated that stupid tradition after he caught himself in the cross hairs of one of your midnight rants one cold January night.

"Yeah, well neither did you," you said, pulling back to look at him. With his arms still around yours, and the moonlight painting patterns on his face, it all felt surreal, like a dream you'd escape to when it all became too much.

"I had my eyes on a pretty lady," he admitted, "but she was too busy rolling her own eyes to notice me."

You could feel the air shift a little, and the way his thumb rubbed your arm slowly. It was intoxicating and you leaned forward.

"I have a feeling she doesn't like New Years' kisses because she's never had one," he continued, a sly smile on his face.

You wanted to roll your eyes, or say something to distance yourself, but you couldn't. Your walls were falling faster than you cared to admit.

"Are you offering one?" The second those words left your lips, you could feel yourself spiralling out of control. But for the second time that evening, someone burst through the bushes, causing you to push away from Bruce.

"Uncle Frank!?" You nearly shouted, surprised to see the hobo with three remaining teeth walking around your father's back lawn. His clothes and dental situation weren't what surprised you, though. It was the fact that Uncle Frank was supposed to be dead.

"You gotta run, girl," he spat, stumbling over to grip your arms. You held your ground, but Bruce stepped forward, and you could sense that he was ready to fight.

"What?" You asked, eyes probably as wide as his bloodshot ones.

"Dimitri's after you. He will be. There's a rat somewhere, girl, and he knows what you are. You gotta run--" those were his last words before he tumbled into your arms, dead as a doornail.

You didn't scream, didn't run, didn't look to Bruce for reassurance. You were back to your old self, ready to move. When you turned to look at your friend, your eyes were cold and calculated. You dropped Uncle Frank's body with a _thud_.

"It's time to move," you stated calmly, and Bruce nodded.

The game was up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter despite my thematic errors.  
> Jeg elsker deg ♥️


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! This is a long (2.5k), unedited chapter, so I apologise in advance!  
> I hope you enjoy!

You washed your hands for what felt like the fiftieth time tonight, gazing at your own expression in the motel mirror. You looked exhausted, eyes puffy and red, face pasty and yellow under the florescent lights. Your hair, though pulled into a tight ponytail, was growing by the second, which you blamed on the Florida humidity. The frizzy ends stuck up in every which way, and though sweat coated every square inch of your skin, you kept scrubbing. Logically, you knew the washing wouldn't do anything except dry your hands out, but you allowed yourself to drift a little closer to insanity. It was better to wash your hands over and over again than to try and sleep on the mattress on the floor, knowing you'd only dream of the man whose blood you were trying so desperately to cleanse your hands of.

He had been a pawn, nothing more. Though you called him Cousin Dill, he was just like any other "family" member: disposable. You never really cared for him but still, murder was never something you enjoyed. Each time it made you sick, and though you had learned to become passive about it over the years, you found yourself growing softer the more time you spent with the Wayne family. Maybe it was because they reminded you a little of your family -- disjointed, more of a small mob than anything -- and maybe the thought of one of them being stabbed like Cousin Dill made you want to cry. But the body that you had hid six feet under was not any of your boys. You knew you'd dream of them taking his place, but you also knew they were safe with Bruce. Trauma has a funny way of twisting your reality, and you sometimes feared that you would kill the boys with such ruthlessness and impassivity, but you kept reminding yourself that you were not like your family, no, you were like the Wayne's, you were trying to do good. You would never hurt them.

Still, as you dried your aching hands again, the little voice in the back of your head reminded you that you were a monster, tainted with innocent blood, who had killed Cousin Dill just to escape. You wished it wasn't true, wished you could go back to Gotham and hide in Bruce's arms like you had been just seventeen hours ago in the garden, but you were here in Panama City, waiting for a boat to take you out of the country.

If only you could get Bruce's voice out of your head.

"Come inside," he insisted, hand so close to yours that you swore you could feel his pulse through the tips of his fingers. You sat still in the passenger's seat, looking away from him out the front window of his Cadillac, watching the boys retreat into Wayne Manor where they would wait for Bruce before locking themselves in the safe room in case your family decided to show up. It was highly unlikely that they had any clue the Wayne's were involved, but you weren't about to risk your boys' lives.

You wanted to go inside, to hide with them, to stay in the warmth of the manor away from everything. But you knew that if you did, they would be in danger. If you stayed, Dimitri would realize that Bruce knew exactly who he really was, and it would be only a matter of time before the wrath of your family was turned upon the people you loved.

"I can't," you said flatly, voice never wavering.

You had taken a risk by asking him to pick you up from the Seventh Street corner store, but you wouldn't make the mistake of involving him again.

"Why not? You'll be safe. We all will."

"And Dimitri will know that you're in on the game. He may never know that Batman is ratting him out, but he will know that Bruce Wayne is involved, and he won't take kindly to it. I'd be putting the boys in danger. I'd be," you finally turned to look at his blue eyes so full of worry, "I'd be putting you in danger."

You stared back passively, the familiar feeling of disconnection that always came with blood seeping into your bones and making you eerily calm. You could see the gears in his brain turning, see the slight desperation in the way he shifted in his seat, but you didn't move.

"How do we know that you've been discovered? It might be nothing."

You sighed.

"I visited Cousin Dill on Seventh Street. He's a coward, and I figured if anyone would have ratted me out, it'd be him. I was right."

"[Y/N]-"

"I killed him, Bruce."

Your admission made him go silent.

"He won't be able to spill any more than he has, which means you have a chance to stay out of this. I would suggest you take that chance."

Your voice was still so cold, so unfeeling, and you could tell that Bruce wanted to reach out. But this wasn't the time for sentiment.

Before he could respond, you threw the car door open, and exited. You wasted no time in disappearing into the night, and were pleased to realize that Bruce didn't follow.

You sat on the mattress now, staring up at the molding ceiling, a flip phone clutched in your hands. Every time it rang, you glanced at the number, then declined. It had been over twelve hours since you left Gotham, and Bruce was still calling. If you were being honest, you didn't know what he'd say if you picked up. But you did know that it would bring you nothing but pain, so you avoided it. Soon enough, you'd be out of the country, and the phone would shut down, and you'd be off the grid. You already knew where to go, and what to do, and though you looked at the task ahead passively, there was still a full ache in your chest that reminded you that getting close to people was a bad idea. Still, you didn't regret knowing the Wayne's. Not for one second. As much as it hurt, you'd rather grieve over a lost love than never have loved them. You knew that, in the years to come, the memories you cherished so sweetly would sustain you and keep you alive. So you held on to them tightly, focusing on a few to make sure you didn't forget.

The boys were crouched outside of the kitchen, fingers wedged between the swinging door so that they could watch Alfred move around as he prepared dinner for the most recent Wayne Manor Gala. Their eyes were locked on a plate of cookies in the center, mouths watering, barely containing their whining. Aflred continued on, and it was obvious that he had just recently kicked them out of the kitchen, probably for trying to steal cookies.

You found them like this, and with and evil grin on your face, you pushed past them into the kitchen. Aflred whirled around, ready with spoon in hand to wack the knuckles of small children, but instead found you, smiling warmly.

"Hello, Mr. Pennyworth!"

His shoulders slumped slightly in relief, and he smiled back.

"I've told you time and time again Miss [Y/N], you should call me Alfred."

"And I've told you that I was raised to respect my elders." He rolled his eyes. "Do you need any help in here?"

"I'm quite alright," he chided, turning back around to stir the potato mash defiantly. As soon as you knew he was occupied, you made your move.

"Are you sure? Because I really wouldn't mind-"

"Out!" He yelled, tossing a second wooden spoon over his head, which you caught, and you laughed.

"It's good that I have fast reflexes," you teased, and you could practically hear his eyes roll around in his head. "I'll leave you alone!" You giggled, and sauntered out of the kitchen. Not before grabbing five cookies, of course.

When the door swung closed behind you, the boys grabbed you and dragged you far enough into the hallway that Alfred couldn't hear.

"I want one!"

"How did you do that?"

"Give me a cookie!"

"It only worked for you because you're older."

They all went on and on and you laughed, depositing a sugar cookie in each outstretched hand. You sat cross-legged in the hallway with the boys, munching on the sweets, and that was how Bruce found you.

"She did it!" Jason said immediately, pointing an accusatory finger at you. You barked out a laugh in response, and the boys quickly stuffed the remainder of their cookies in their mouths before Bruce could take them back to the kitchen as evidence.

"Did I miss something?"

"Ms. [Y/N] still cookies from behind Alfred's back," Damian declared, and you swatted a hand at his head. He dodged it easily with a glare, but you couldn't wipe the smile off your face. Tim chuckled at Damian's annoyance, and Dick looked between them, already expecting a fight to break out. Jason just looked on guiltily, like he had been caught. You watched all of them with a smile because, each in his own way, the boys were grinning too.

To your surprise, Bruce started laughing.

He had a deep laugh, a belly laugh, one that sounded so free and loud and so like him that you couldn't help but smile wider.

Tim was arguing with you loudly when Damian came into the dining room. He took one glance at the homework papers strewn about, his brother's flushed face, and your irritated one, and immediately assessed the situation.

"Don't be such a child, Drake. She's only trying to help you."

Tim's head whipped around like an owl's, eyes narrowing at Damian. "Don't be such a momma's boy, Damian. She's being annoying," he said, mimicking his brother's tone and inflection. 

They started going at it, and no sooner had Tim taken the first swing did Dick run in with tears streaming down his face, and Jason close behind. The two who had been arguing grew quiet for a moment when Dick yelled.

"I don't want to talk to you!" He screeched, and you were shocked when he rushed forward and buried his face in your neck, arms clutching your sides, body shaking. You glanced at Jason, who looked sad.

With a soft sigh, you picked Grayson up gently, and he snuggled into your lap. You could tell he was still crying, but made no sound or movement.

"Dick, love, what happened?" You prodded, and he shook his head vigorously, burrowing even farther into your embrace. The family grew silent, watching him closely. When Bruce walked in and assessed the situation, you realized that the meeting you had visited the Wayne Manor for might not happen. 

He pulled up a chair close to you so that he could reach Dick, and you shared a look that spoke volumes. One of the advantages of having known Bruce for so long was that you could send messages at a glance, which helped in a fight and, apparently, at home.

"Dick, do you want to talk?"

He shook his head again.

"What if we took you to your room?" You asked, and this time, he nodded slowly.

"Okay," you breathed, and stood up carefully. He clung on like a monkey, and you kept your arms wrapped firmly around his small frame. Bruce followed you closely to the boy's room, and opened the door so you could enter.

Dick's room was like any boy his age; cluttered and full of color and toys. But there was something somber about the way they sat idle, not having been played with for a long time. You sat on the bed, with Bruce at your side, and slowly released the boy in your arms. Dick relaxed, and leaned back so you could see his tear-stained face, but didn't look you in the eyes.

"What is it, Dick?" Bruce asked, and his son took a shaky breath.

"Jason said I missed the school play."

With the realization, you caught Bruce's gaze and sighed sadly. You had all forgotten about the Robin Hood production his school was supposed to put on tonight after getting caught up in a fight across town. The boys had all been there helping, and apparently the play had slipped everyone's minds.

"I'm so sorry, love," you whispered, drawing him close again. "It's not fair to you that we couldn't be there." You knew all too well the pain of missing out on life because of your family, so it hurt you to see him like this. 

Bruce, too, looked sad. He reached a hand out, and ran his thumb along Dick's back comfortingly. 

"I just wanted to be there," his son said in a small, broken voice, and your heart broke.

"I know," Bruce said. "I know."

It took a mammoth effort to contain Dick in the ballroom, but you refused to fail. As soon as you had corralled him to a nearby plush bench with firm arms, Jason came bursting through the door dressed like a hobo, reciting the opening lines of Robin Hood. Dick went still in your arms, and you watched with him as the rest of the Wayne family acted out the play in earnest (often forgetting their lines and improvising, much to your amusement), with Bruce even masquerading as the legendary Robin Hood.

It wasn't extremely well produced, and they skipped probably half of the scenes, but it didn't really matter. They were lost in the joy of it all, jumping between roles, and seeing Bruce in tights and an XXL T-shirt made your day. By the time the cast had bowed, and you and Dick had clapped until your hands burned, the boy had forgotten all about the play he had missed last week.

And you had forgotten who you were, for two beautiful hours. Here, you were a Wayne.

When your phone rang in the middle of th ocean, you knew it would be your last chance to talk to Bruce. So, despite everything, you picked up, and prayed that the intense sun and wind would keep you grounded in reality.

"Hello, Bruce," you answered, and there was a moment of silence.

"You're almost gone, aren't you?" He asked, the strain in his voice evident.

"Yeah."

The line went dead as you crossed into international waters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter!! Let me know what you thought!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce finds you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, just a few disclaimers.  
> 1\. I want to begin by apologizing for the quality of this chapter, but it's late and I wrote over 2k words so I hope you can forgive me.  
> 2\. I can't believe I'm already at seven chapters. When I started this, it was a vague idea and I wasn't sure if anyone would care, but now I'm 13k words in and it's totally different than I originally envisioned, but in a good way!  
> 3\. I really really really appreciate everyone who has commented so far. I kept writing this because I enjoyed it, but knowing y'all like it just makes me want to write more. So thank you for the constant support and love.  
> 4\. I was really gonna write this whole thing about the reader being on the run, but honestly, I can't stay away from Bruce Wayne for too long. I just can't. So we're skipping two months ahead and even though she just left, she's coming back again because I hate writing filler chapters without the main ship. Deal with it.  
> 5\. The reader at one point speaks Spanish and says basically "I'm only here for the computer". I apologise to all Spanish speakers for my rusty language skills, and to anyone who is confused by the brief lapse into a different language in dialogue.

You weren't there when Bruce Wayne cracked, and you didn't see the headlines from your little village in the Chilean mountains. But a group of American tourists appeared in the massive market you bought your groceries from, the oldest child of a family of six reading Tweets louder than the raucous of dozens of people shopping, and your best friend's name caught your attention. You couldn't help but listen in.

"It says Bruce Wayne is taking a vacation to Chile... Maybe we'll see him!! He's been all over the news lately since he just disappeared. Can you imagine meeting a billionaire? I wonder what he's like. I wonder if he's friendly, or if he hates fans. I wonder if..." The brothers of the lone teen girl ignored her while her mother nodded, but the humor of it all was lost in you.

Bruce here? And he had been missing? He must have found you, you realized, but how?

Throwing caution to the wind, you risked visiting a local library next. It was the kind the kids from a church in Utah had helped build (even though nobody would ever use it), stucco and bright blue against an even bluer sky. It was near the market, which meant a quick getaway, but you hadn't risked it yet for fear that the missionary staff working there would recognize you. The chances were low, since you were only really famous in wealthy circles, but with the lack of visitors, who knew what the staff were researching in their free time. Besides, the library was on a hill, where everyone who was coming and going from the market would see you. You didn't like that, even if there was little risk.

Maybe it had been an extreme choice to move to Chile. And especially to stay for two months now, living in a farming family's barn and avoiding crowded places. But the more time you spent here, the more you realized just how exhausting it was to live under your father. Here, simple things like cooking dinner or going on a walk or speaking to a neighbor didn't pose the same risk. And though you were the only white woman in the area, the locals got used to you fast and you became part of the scenery. They knew a runaway when they saw one, and maybe it was Chile's troubled past that made you feel so welcomed. They weren't the only ones who had spent nights lying awake, listening to their neighbors and family being abducted and murdered.

Despite how drastic your decision was, you decided you liked it here. You'd rather be hidden away in Chile, cooking over an open fire and spending your days tending fields and animals than be stuck in a slightly more connected area where you could lay on a memory foam mattress, but wouldn't be able to fall asleep for fear of being found. No, here you were safe. Your father was a determined and stubborn man, but he wasn't foolish. Once he hit a dead end in his search, he'd give up, and you'd be left alone to enjoy a much more laid back life in the mountains.

You couldn't help worry about this life you had created, though, as you climbed the hill to the library. Maybe there was little to no risk. Maybe the chances of you being discovered were low, and then being successfully hunted down were even lower, but you had a lifetime in a mob to learn that you can never trust anyone or anything, not even the most foolproof plan.

The library door opened when you threw your weight against it, and the cool mountain air rushed inside with you.

"¿Comó está?" Was heard from a room in the back.

"Bueno. Yo solo estoy aquí para la computadora," You explained, and the woman who was on the clock apparently accepted that answer because she didn't respond. "¡Gracias!" You added quickly, and you heard a quick "nunca problema" with a distinct American accent in response.

The library itself was small, with cement walls and linoleum tiles that had probably never been washed. On either side of you were rows and rows of bookshelves, and directly in front of you was the clerk's desk. She was still shuffling around in the back, so you took your time glancing at the different shelves and brushing your fingers against the bindings of books that were mostly in English (in rural Chile? Really?) on your way to the computers. They sat on small school desks in the back, and you settled into a suspiciously dusty office chair and pulled yourself up to one. When you click on the power button, it's components whirred to life, and the monitor that was thicker than your thighs lit up bright blue, just like the stucco walls.

You knew logging into your email was a bad idea, so instead you typed in "Bruce Wayne" and read the most recent headlines.

Apparently, Bruce had mysteriously disappeared from the public eye for about three weeks some two months ago, cancelling major events last minute and not even venturing out into public. But above those headlines were the ones about the Waynes' surprise purchase of a vacation home in Chile, just three miles from where you currently were. This would attract celebrity watchers no doubt, so you'd have to lay low for awhile.

Out of curiosity, you typed in your father's name. When you nearly fell out of your chair, the missionary woman emerged from the bookshelves to check on you.

"Busca... Usted... Uhh..."

"I'm okay, thank you," you cut her off, turning to look at her face. She was in her forties or fifties, but still obviously fit. She wore a simple t-shirt with the library name on it, and khaki capris. She was obviously surprised to see another white woman in the building, but you nodded quickly and gave a fake smile before turning back to the computer. She got the message, and left you to your searching.

"Real estate man arrested for seven counts of murder, weapons and drug smuggling, and bribery." That was the first headlines you read, and at the end of those black letters was a mugshot of your father looking straight at the camera.

Your father was an emotionally-charged man who had no problem with giving anyone and everyone a piece of his mind, which is why his blank expression caught you off guard. There was something in his eyes... Confusion? It had to be. It certainly wasn't fear, not anger or sadness and definitely not joy. He was confused. But as the gears in your head turned rapidly, you realized that much more than a simple drug bust had gone down while you were hiding away in a barn thousands of miles from home.

You didn't have time to fully process before you realized that you had to move. Chances were, either you were a free woman, or one of your delightful family members would be knocking on your door at any moment to put a bullet through your skull. So you crept out of the library and left without the clerk noticing, choosing to take the long path through the market and around various properties back to the farm you had been staying at. You needed to stay calm, to make sure every move was calculated, and losing yourself in a crowd of people and then hiding in the countryside was probably the smartest thing you could do. You didn't get very far, though, before something stopped you. 

It was a single piece of paper that caught your eye as it danced in the wind, but it was the way it's short side never left the ground that drew you in. You walked a hundred feet or so on the dirt road behind a gourd farmer, ignoring the Guanacos that stared at you from over the fence posts, and crouched in front of it.

"It" was your notepad, the same one that you gave Batman the night you had met, the same one you had been using to communicate with for years. Written on it in neat, familiar handwriting was the address to a house you could only guess was the newly-purchased vacation home of Bruce Wayne. So you took off again, notepad clutched to your chest, bags of groceries hitting your side harshly as they swung around your arms. Your feet made almost no sound as you ran.

The dirt rode turned to grass turned to trees and bushes, turned to a forest. You didn't know exactly where you were, but your two months exploring this area and the tingling feeling that the Wayne boys described as your "Spidey Senses" led you in the right direction. Massive leaves smacked you, spiderwebs grabbed you, and maybe you were being followed, but it didn't matter. There was something in you that was desperate now, knowing your father was put away. Something that screamed at you to find Bruce, so find him you did.

His new house was small by his standards, but large by yours. It had a very 2000's modern architecture aesthetic, with massive glass windows and geometric features jutting out in various angles. It was on a massive property, one that had been cleared of forest and then cultivated with various beautiful plants that were probably not native to Chile. Not the safest place to be, you thought as you walked up to it cautiously, but it didn't matter. You hadn't seen Bruce in any of the windows when you walked up, but something about it made you feel safe. So he must be near.

You didn't bother knocking, or ringing any doorbells, just picked the lock so you wouldn't be out in the open anymore. When you entered, you felt immediately exposed with all of the windows, so decided to ascend the steps in front of you before exploring the rest of the house. 

As your feet brushed the soft carpet of the top step, you dropped your groceries gently and continued your path. The upstairs hall was long and narrow, lined with doors on one side and small windows on the other. You avoided those at all costs. But the door at the end, that looked promising. You could see that it was open a crack, and light eminated from it, as well as the sound of the news playing. When you slowly squeezed in through the door, it took Bruce a moment to realize you were there.

He was lounging on the bed with palm frond bedsheets, one arm tucked behind his head, one laying across his stomach atop the remote. He hadn't shaved in awhile, and the light beard made him look older. He had obviously gotten comfortable here, judging by the clothes strewn about and the sweat pants and sweatshirt he wore. But nothing about his appearance was as noticeable as the relieved expression that crossed his face as soon as you entered.

He nearly flew off the bed to stand in front of you, hands just ghosting over your arms in a quiet assessment of any possible injuries. You couldn't move, and you wouldn't have realized you were crying if he didn't wipe a tear away tenderly.

"[Y/N]." He mumbled, lost in the sight of you, and that was all it took for you to crumple into his arms in quiet sobs.

He caught you, and held you close as you sunk to the floor together on your knees. As you grew weaker, he used one of his arms to pull your legs out from under you and hold you bridal style. You didn't really care that he was holding you, or picking you up, or laying with you on the bed, so long as he never let go.

"I took care of it all, [Y/N]," he reassured, but you just kept crying.

If you were being completely honest, you couldn't remember a time you had ever cried like this. You had learned -- no, been trained -- to be bigger than your emotions. And even when you did cry, you were never weak. But in Bruce's embrace, cocooned with the smell of his stale cologne and the softness of his sweater and the tenderness of his hold on you, you weren't afraid to let go of the emotions you had stored away. Because at the end of the day, you trusted Bruce. Maybe you shouldn't have, but ever since the first night you had met Batman, you had trusted him. Maybe it was your desperation for human connection, or maybe it was something else invisible that drew you near. But this man, your best friend, the one you spoke to with your eyes and danced the dark nights away, he had never failed you. And he had never belittled you. So you had no reason to continue holding it all in.

You didn't remember falling asleep nestled in Bruce's arms. But he sure did. He remembered your breaths slowing and your body relaxing, and the way you curled in close. He remembered how beautiful you looked in the reflection of the TV that had since switched off, tear-stained and broken. He remembered how soft your hair was when he planted a kiss there, and how much he wished he had done this sooner. Before, there had always been the threat of your father hanging over your heads. But now, with Dimitri gone, what excuse did he have to keep you close except that he couldn't live without you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked it!! Please let me know what you think so far 😊


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's over. (Not the story, just the fight. I'm not that cruel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few important notes before we begin:  
> 1\. THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER. I know it kinda feels like that, but it's not. I still plan to continue this story.  
> 2\. I did re-use some writing from an earlier chapter at the end, because they tied in together. It's only like a paragraph tho.  
> 3\. I'm not sure how frequently I'm gonna update after this week. I start work next Monday, and I also have online classes, and art shop to run, and plenty of other stuff on my plate, so no guarantee that I'll be consistent after this week.  
> 4\. A HUGE thank you to all the people who have been commenting, whether on this work or another. It means a lot to me.  
> 5\. Would you guys like to see more DCU stuff from me? This is my first DC fic and I usually write Marvel, but if people like my writing, I'd be happy to do some more in this universe.  
> 6\. If you didn't already know, I take requests! Just finished two! You can comment on any of my stories, send a message to my business email at serendipityscribbles@gmail.com or a DM to by business Instagram @lotte_art_ if you want to make a request. I've really enjoyed hearing from some of you!!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!!

Previously...

_You didn't remember falling asleep nestled in Bruce's arms. But he sure did. He remembered your breaths slowing and your body relaxing, and the way you curled in close. He remembered how beautiful you looked in the reflection of the TV that had since switched off, tear-stained and broken. He remembered how soft your hair was when he planted a kiss there, and how much he wished he had done this sooner. Before, there had always been the threat of your father hanging over your heads. But now, with Dimitri gone, what excuse did he have to keep you close except that he couldn't live without you?_

Your whole life, you'd been plagued by poor sleeping patterns. When you were younger, night terrors would keep you up if you ever managed to fall asleep but sometimes, you couldn't even close your eyes long enough for the dreams to take hold; you'd be up before the sun rose, following in the footsteps of your father. As you got older, the nightmares subsided (something a therapist on TV had described as an effect of living in a traumatic environment for too long), but you rarely felt well-rested. Sleep had never been a friend, and now, during the nights you stayed up late helping Batman, it eluded you. So to say you were shocked when you woke up feeling refreshed was an understatement.

Waking up in Bruce Wayne's arms was safe and cozy and warm. Your muscles had all relaxed, and it took a minute for you to remember where you were.

Chile. A cabin in rural Chile.

But you couldn't move. You didn't dare, not when you felt so at peace. Not when you could hear his steady breathing and the soft thumping of his heart, not when his body fit so perfectly against yours, not when his arms held you so securely, not when his faded cologne reminded you of so many nights together defending the city. You could feel his breath on your hair and you knew you'd never been near him like this. You had spent many many long hours with Bruce fighting crime, in secret meetings about drug busts, dancing at galas, eating dinner with your father, or spending time at the Manor. But never had you been alone with him when it wasn't about business. Here, in Chile, on a gorgeous plot of land, in an expensive little house overlooking the ocean from the mountains above, in his bed, knowing there was probably the tightest security measures keeping you safe, the feeling was very different. You were free for a moment. Nothing to worry about, nothing to fear, no one to interrupt.

Your sleep-blurred eyes gazed out of the window you were facing, one blinking as the fibers of Bruce's shirt tickled it. The ocean stretched outward for what seemed like an eternity, unbroken by any land or living being. It sparkled in the late morning sunlight, and you swore you could hear the cypress trees catching the wind and the ocean crashing against the rocks. There were birds flying everywhere in the garden and above the water, tracing invisible paths in the sky like little airplanes who listened to nothing but their instincts, guided by mother nature. The plants felt that same pull, reaching towards the sun and catching its rays, the few flowers left from the blooming season practically glowing in their vibrancy. Even the grass that swayed so softly was beautiful, even the clouds that dotted the sky, even every little moss-covered rock. It was a paradise here, and you almost regretted not realizing that beauty in your haste to hide.

You had no idea you let out a small sigh, or that Bruce's breathing had picked up until you felt his thumb begin to rub your arm, slow and tender like he was testing something. You didn't say anything, just hummed softly, and you knew he was relishing this moment the same. It was rare that you got to wake up like this, at peace and feeling safe. Let alone with someone you cared for. Unfortunate for you, considering the giggles coming from the door, not only were the boys home, but Dick Grayson planned to ruin your perfect morning.

"Hey everybody!" He shouted, no doubt waking the whole house. You rolled over with lightning speed out of Bruce's arms, and bolted to the door.

"[Y/N] and Bruce are-- MMMPH!"

You clamped a hand tightly over his mouth, and heard Bruce chuckle behind you.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence before you know the full story, Grayson."

As your warning sunk in, Dick relaxed and rolled his eyes, deciding not to disobey your orders.

"I see you chose life, kiddo," Jason said, leaning in the frame of a door a few rooms down. He looked sleepy, still in his pyjamas like Dick, but was obviously energized by whatever chaos was currently unfolding.

"Well, I choose death!" Tim grumbled, sleepily stumbling towards you in a penguin-like march. "Damian! [Y/N] and Bruce we're fu--"

You quickly let go of Dick to slap a hand over his brother's mouth this time. Tim was right when he said he chose death; your glare could kill a million Joker's on the spot. Jason laughed, still in the doorframe. He had felt your wrath in the past (apparently, you didn't like someone stealing chips from your bag), and he knew not to test you. But the younger boys were brazen.

"I knew they would as soon as they saw each other again," said a posh voice as Damian emerged from the room nextdoor, his hands clasped and hair already slicked back this early in the morning.

"Whatever you think we were doing," you said pointedly, still glaring at Tim with your hand over his mouth, "you're wrong. I stayed the night in Bruce's room. Nothing else happened."

You raised an eyebrow at each boy. Tim shrugged in surrender, Dick couldn't stop smiling, and Damian raised an eyebrow right back at you. Jason winked and immediately took off down the stairs before you could send him to hell with one of your looks. Wise young man.

"Go downstairs," you ordered them grumpily, and they left in relative silence (minus Dick whispering excitedly in Damian's ear, and Damian leaning away in disgust).

You could hear Bruce's quiet laugh from behind you and turned around, a blush still on your cheeks from the embarrassment of the moment. But he was just smiling at you, his hair everywhere, still unshaved, still gorgeous as ever. And you probably looked like you'd died and been resurrected.

"You know how to tame them," he said, and you rolled your eyes.

"I wouldn't have to if you stepped in."

"You were handling it just fine."

It was all teasing, you knew, and it brought a smile to your face.

"We should talk about what happened with your father," Bruce said, and the mood changed. You nodded.

"After breakfast?"

"Okay. We bought muffins at the market yesterday; I think you'll like them. Jason said your favorite was blueberry."

You nodded, and let Bruce lead you downstairs with a hand close by your side, momentarily distracting you from your dip in mood. You had broken the touch barrier before with hugs and dancing and little touches here and there, but after sleeping with him, you found yourself gravitating towards his body like a magnet.

It wasn't until after an exhausting breakfast (Tim tried to kill Jason, who was buoyed by the joy of seeing his younger brothers get scolded, and Damian nearly yelled for peace and quiet, and Dick was cackling loudly) did you get some alone time. Bruce took you outside to the garden, in a spot with some expensive chaises and umbrellas just outside the window of his bedroom. You snuggled into your seat and watched him as he gathered his thoughts, eyes flicking over the scenery.

"When you left, your father came to me," he began, and you sucked in a nervous breath.

"The boys were fine in the safe room. He said you had gone missing, and he suspected a kidnapping, but hadn't called the police yet. He said he'd seen us leave the ballroom together, and wanted to know if I was aware of your whereabouts."

"What did you tell him?"

Bruce looked at you, and though your perfect morning had been twisted a little bit, it was still perfect, because you were still safe with him. So you rested under his gaze.

"I told him you had told me goodnight, and I had left you outside the front door. I told him I'd put a word in with the police commissioner as soon as he published anything."

You nodded.

"He seemed to accept that, and eventually went home. I waited for another hour, tried calling you, and then put on the mask. Brought all the extra evidence we'd been saving for the grand finale to the commissioner, and he asked that I bring your father in. I went to his house, knocked on the door, and when Dimitri saw that it was Batman, he slammed it and ran away. By the time I got to his room, he was dead."

"He shot himself, didn't he?" You didn't need to see Bruce's nod to know the answer. Your father would die before disgracing himself.

"Why didn't you come sooner?" You asked, and Bruce studied you for a moment. You didn't want to think about your father's death just yet.

"You're not an easy woman to find," he teased and you snorted, eyes drifting over the open ocean. "And I had to take care of a few things. Most of your family scattered, but a few tried to take vengeance. They're all in jail now."

"So it's over?"

"Yes."

You nodded again, and let it all sink in.

It was really over. You had done it. Your father was defeated, and it had really been that simple? Your original plan was to wait, and gather as much evidence as possible to convict as many people as possible, but it hadn't worked out that way. Bruce sped things up so you could return, you realized. He could've followed through with the plan but he wanted you safe.

"Thank you," you said, and turned back to address him sincerely. "Really."

"Of course. I couldn't let you live out here forever," he motioned to the scene around you, "or at least not alone."

You blushed and shook your head in embarrassment, a smile fighting it's way into your features.

"I'm glad you did it, then," you admitted, and he smiled back. 

Yes, it was good to be together again. Two months apart had made you realize that maybe, just maybe, distance does make the heart grow fonder.

Usually, when a car passes a graveyard, there is a solemn silence that follows. A moment where the vehicle's passengers watch the upright stones fly past their windows, and remember things that have been buried six feet under. After the wrought iron fencing and stone walls pass, the car is returned to its previous state, with just a little extra baggage.

Graveyards themselves have a unique feeling. They are so empty and yet so full, so quiet and yet so loud. Cold and yet filled with unnatural warmth. The air is always still, and the colors are always more vibrant than they should be. Gotham graveyards in particular were another world. It never seemed to rain on them, despite the constant drizzle that pervaded the rest of the city, but fog still settled in its place, weaving in between the headstones and flowers. The graveyard your father was laid to rest in was no different. You stared at the unmarked grave, thirty-two dead roses clutched in your sweaty hands. One for each year he had stolen from you.

When you asked the florist for dead roses, she had given you a strange look, but handed over their dead, brown bodies anyway. You placed them against the bright red landscaping flag that was the only indication of the man under the dirt, bright red like the blood on his hands. Like the blood on your hands.

You didn't miss him, didn't miss your family, but there was still a grief in losing your chance at normalcy. As a young girl, you had clung on to the hope that he would change, and maybe a part of you still wanted it, but now there was no chance of that. He was gone. And with him was buried everything you knew. 

Well, not exactly everything.

"Are you ready to go?" Bruce said, keeping a respectful distance, and you wondered for a moment if the summer sun ever effected him in his expensive suits.

You looked up at him, and then at the car behind him. A limo, driven by an exasperated Alfred, with three boys inside who looked to be in varying stages of grief over whatever music the fourth boy, Jason, was playing. You smiled unconsciously as you watched, and then took one last look at the red flag and dead roses.

"Yeah. I'm ready."

Bruce led you to the car with an arm at your back, led you straight towards the boys and Alfred, straight towards your family.

And you couldn't be more ready to leave your father behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked this chapter!! As usual, please leave kudos and a comment if you did!!  
> Jeg elsker deg ♥️


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk man just read it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE ABOUT PLOT:  
> A little bit in the way of explanation in case you're like me and tend to skin chapters:  
> Upon returning, the reader enrolled in school since she finally had the opportunity. She's been living on her own and now she and Bruce are meeting up again.

The afternoon sun was streaming through the trees of North Gotham Park, and though the winter was still holding on in May, a few plants had begun to spring up between the decomposing leaves. With each footstep, those leaves crunched and squished and birds flew away quickly. They sung a sweet song, something light but mellow, perfect for a sunset. And the forest smelled of spring, of old winter and new growth and rain, and you let your eyes flutter close even as you walked, so intent on soaking up your surroundings.

The North Park Creek ahead was still, no movement of young fish or tadpoles yet to stir it. So it reflected the scenery around its bed; the bare trees and the rays of sun and the birds that passed overhead, and even the metal bridge that stretched from bank to bank. You let your feet carry you to the bridge, onto it's creaking base, all the way to the middle. With a soft sigh, you lowered yourself so your legs could swing out above the water between the bars of the bridge, and your forehead could lean against one. It was all so beautiful, so picture perfect, and as the toes of your boots skimmed the water and caused ripples, you noticed the reflection of someone else other than you, staring right back.

"I was wondering if you'd show up," you said, turning to look Bruce Wayne in the eyes.

He had a jacket and jeans on, simple, at least compared to his typical tailored tux. His clothes were as immaculate as ever but what made you smile was his face, where the lines of stress were a little less prominent and there was peace in his eyes. He looked a little happy, dare you say it, and that made you feel better about not seeing him for almost a month.

"Why wouldn't I show up?" He, too, lowered himself onto the creaking bridge so that he was only one metal bar away from you, thousand dollar shoes barely missing the water as he held them up.

"I didn't think you wouldn't, I just wondered..." You trailed off and resumed looking in the creek, but his reflection wouldn't turn its gaze from you.

"Yes?"

"It's not important. You're here now."

"Miscommunication never did us much good," he said, reminding you of a failed mission years ago, before you had learned to trust each other. He was right, you knew. You always worked better together when you spoke your mind.

"I just don't see why you'd want to have anything to do with me, now that it's all said and done. You have no obligation, and no attachment. I may have been in your life for awhile, but now it's over."

Bruce went stiff beside you. He wasn't expecting that. Had something happened in the last month? Had he done something wrong? Last he remembered, you were sleeping in his arms and an active part of the Wayne family. Then, all the sudden, you got whisked into your new school (studying forensics, of all things) and he hadn't really heard from you. Was it true, that there was no attachment? Did you really not care for the relationship?

"Don't let the boys hear you say that," he muttered bitterly, and you turned around in surprise.

"Bruce, you don't have to stay with me anymore. It's over. We did it."

"But what if I want to? To stay with you?"

There was nothing but sincerity and care in his beautiful blue eyes and yours began to tear up. You just watched him, the gears in your brain turning, trying to judge what to do next. You didn't know why he cared, but somehow, he did. You hadn't realized you were crying until he wiped a tear away.

"But you don't have to," you said again like some broken record, one who had been shattered too many times.

"Not every relationship is obligation," Bruce muttered evenly, eyes still locked with yours. "You're family. As much as Alfred and the boys are. Have you seen the way they talk to you? The way they trust you and love you? Have you seen the way Alfred bakes extra cookies in case you're around? Have you seen how happy everyone is the moment you walk in the room?"

You shook your head, the tears falling fast now.

"We love you, [Y/N]."

That was the last straw. You scrambled to your feet, nearly falling over the railing in the process, and took off the way you had come. You couldn't do this. You didn't know how to do this. Bruce was wrong, they couldn't love you. How could they love you?

But Bruce was faster than you, and before you could get halfway out of the park, he had grabbed ahold of your arm and spun you around, instantly grasping your waist to keep you from leaving. You were still shaking your head, still crying, so he pulled you into a tight hug. And, weakly, you let him.

He was a huge man, so you could rest your head on his chest and he could rest his lips in your hair, where he murmered "we love you"s over and over again as you shook in silent agony, rubbing your back and your shoulders and keeping you close. It took a long time for you to relax. But when you did, and you finally pulled apart, you didn't run.

"Please stay," he said, barely a whisper.

"Why?"

"Because we love you."

Before you could keep shaking your head he continued.

"Because I love you. And even if everyone else in this damn family hates your guts, I love you, and I want you to stay. Please."

For a moment, you couldn't breath. You had never seen Bruce look so desperate, so laid bare. His face, just inches from yours, was scrunched up on nervous lines and maybe you should have run again, maybe you should have broken free and forgotten him because love was never an option for you, but here in the middle of North Gotham Park in the spring, you were reminded that there was no reason you couldn't say yes to Bruce. Your father was gone, wasn't he? Along with his cronies and their cronies and you were safe because of it. He had done all that to get you back, hadn't he? And now you had a life, you had started college, you had a chance to live. So what reason was there to say no?

"You love me?"

You hated how weak your voice sounded, but you weren't afraid because of it. You trusted Bruce, you realized. You trusted him completely.

"I do."

And you knew by the look in his eyes, by years spent working so closely together, that he was telling the truth.

"I'm scared." You admitted, and he swallowed.

"Me too."

With that, you forced yourself to relax, to remember where you were and whose arms you were in. Whose lips you were so close to...

"You never gave me that New Years' kiss," you whispered. You probably looked like you had just died and been resurrected, but Bruce gazed at you like you held the stars in your eyes.

"I guess I'll have to make that up."

There was a tender second, not even a moment, where he leaned forward and your lips didn't quite touch. Where he let you decide, let you know that he was waiting for you. And you obliged.

The moment your lips touched, it was like fire was dancing along your spine. His grip on your waist tightened and you reached up to wrap your own arms around his neck, letting his lips slide across yours so smoothly and perfectly. The kiss was warm and tasted of liquor and you took it slow, let the world continue moving while you absorbed every touch, every taste, even the sound of the sigh that left your own mouth, that he kissed away so wonderfully. Every moment was heaven.

When you pulled away slowly, he sucked on your bottom lip before letting go and you nearly died right there. He still looked at you like you held the stars in your eyes and you swore you could see them with how dizzy he made you.

"Stay." He insisted one last time.

You nodded.

"I'm not going anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all liked this chapter!  
> I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, so I'd appreciate any ideas/feedback! Thanks!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First date!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! Here with another update! I'm sorry it's taking so long, but I'm super busy.

You had never been so nervous in your life.

You'd done plenty of illegal things -- stealing, arson, counterfeiting, murder, the list went on -- and you had spent most of your life living like no one else could. The world didn't have half the guts that you did. You were tough as nails. But a date? That was too much. You'd been on dates before, but they were never real. It was always manipulating a subject to get information, or entertaining someone your father needed to be on good terms with. You knew what to do, and how to act, and what to say, and exactly how to grab a man's attention but now that you were going on a real date, you were clueless. You didn't know how to behave at all, and it was eating you alive. Even if you managed to say the right things, what if he realized he didn't like you? What if the magic of last week was gone and he left? 

No, you reminded yourself, you knew this man. You trusted him. And he wouldn't just dump you.

Across town, Bruce Wayne was panicking even more than you were. But only the boys and Alfred would ever know that.

Bruce invited you to a quiet little restaurant just a mile from Wayne Manor; a mom and pop joint with delicious food and a comforting, amiable atmosphere with plants on every shelf and table. It had once been a butcher's shop, so old meat hooks dangled from the ceiling, but the owners just used them to hang lights and even more plants. You had been there before, under the fairy lights and foliage, when Jason's date stood him up. You felt bad for the kid, and decided to take matters into your own hands when Bruce got a sad text asking to be picked up. You remembered placing your hand over his before he could type a response, and saying "I've got this." You and Jason had a great time and before long, the rest of the Wayne family joined. That was one of your favorite memories.

Going back to Angelica's, as it was called, was like going back home almost. There weren't many places that hadn't been tainted with memories of your father's mob -- around every corner and in every store were flashes of blood and screams and pain that you wanted to forget. Dealings with your ex-family had taken you just about everywhere in the city but it never touched Angelica's. Instead, when you entered and smelled the caramelized onions and grilled beef, you just remembered the Wayne's. Which is why you asked Bruce to take you to Angelica's for your first date, because you wanted it to be a happy one. You didn't want this new relationship to be tainted by the blood of your family.

Your phone buzzed and you were quickly drawn out of your thoughts, head turning to your nightstand. Who knew how long you had been sitting on your bed stressing. You reached for it and found a single text from Tim:

"Good luck."

You almost laughed out loud, partly because of nerves and partly because you just loved those boys so much. Their personalites were so particular and it never failed to amuse you. If only you had their courage, though. You could really use it tonight.

Picking a dress took forever, and even now, an hour after you started getting ready, you weren't sure. But you decided that it was better to just pick one than to run out of time for makeup and hair. So you put on a simple Calvin Klein dress, white with a flare skirt and deep neckline and let yourself fall into the routine of getting ready. You kept it simple because, at the end of the day, Bruce had seen you at your best and your worst and nothing you did to your face or clothes would change the way he saw you. When he knocked on your apartment door, you were as ready as you'd ever be.

To say Bruce Wayne was knocked off his feet would be an understatement. Every time he saw you he had much the same reaction but there was something different about this time. Maybe it was the fact that you were dressed how you wanted to dress instead of what was expected of you, maybe it was the fact that you were dressed for him, maybe it was the peace that had settled your shoulders and brightened your eyes since your father's death. Maybe it was the fact that you were his.

Bruce looked as good as always with his three-piece suit and tie, and with the way he was looking at you, you felt like melting right there. He had put on your favorite cologne and was holding a bouquet of roses, and you smiled like he had caught you the moon. He'd never seen anything as beautiful as that smile.

"You brought flowers," you said softly, and he grinned back.

"I couldn't show up flower-less to our first date now, could I?"

You shook your head and noticed the sparkle in his eyes. Stepping aside, you let him in so you could put the flowers in a vase. Bruce, as always, knew exactly what you were thinking and without you asking, he strolled into your kitchen and found the cupboard with the vases. You watched quietly as he trimmed and cut the flowers, lost in the way he moved.

"Enjoying the view?" He teased, and you laughed nervously. He winked. Oh God, he winked.

Once the flowers were secured in your favorite purple vase (you never told him it was your favorite, but it was no surprise he guessed), he held his arm out like a high school boy waiting to escort his date to the prom.

"Shall we head out?"

"Yeah," you agreed, and took his arm.

You barely made it to the door before he planted a quick, firm kiss on the crown of your head. You froze, terrified for a moment, and he stepped back a bit out of nervousness.

"Why did you do that?" You asked, wild eyes looking into his concerned ones.

"I'm just happy to be with you."

The honest answer caught you by surprise maybe more than the kiss did, and you gulped back the emotions that threatened to explode.

"Ok."

Really? Ok? That was all you could say? But even as you fumbled with your keys you knew Bruce could read you like a book. He knew you were just nervous, and hopefully he wouldn't hold your awkwardness against you. All those emotions faded, however, when Alfred greeted you at the car (which was really more like a limo) and let you in. Sliding into your seat was familiar; something you had done many times and suddenly, you were reminded of who exactly you were dating. This was Bruce Wayne. Your best friend. Your everything. The man you had spent years and years working with and fighting alongside, the man who had proven time and time again that he would never let you down. The man who had tackled a massive criminal empire just so you could come back home. 

When Bruce joined after you, you quickly scooted around the lounge seating so you could sit next to him and before either of you had a chance to react, you let your head fall on his shoulders. He tensed for a moment, like he was unsure, so you sighed and spoke.

"I'm sorry I'm so nervous. It's just, I don't want to mess this is. You mean so much to me." That was probably the most genuine thing you'd ever said to someone but somehow, that didn't scare you.

Bruce lifted his arm so that it was around your shoulders and you settled against his chest, letting the familiar feel of his body and the scent of his cologne relax the last of your nerves.

"I'm scared, too," he admitted, and you believed him.

The ride was spent in silence. A calm, peaceful silence. It was much like the morning in Chile, when you basked in each other's presence and the realization that you were completely and totally safe. It was a wonderful feeling and you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Still, when you arrived at Angelica's, you were ready to get out. Alfred opened the door and you thanked him with a silent nod, which was met with a broad smile. When Bruce opened the door for you, it was very difficult not to swoon but you managed to retain your composure with a wink. And now you were under the fairy lights of Angelica's, with the familiar smells of onions and beef and everything was perfect.

Tonight, you found yourself talking about little things. Not the crime world that used to occupy your entire being, but instead, you talked about artists and movies and foods and the boys. It was amazing how so quickly, you were able to pick up conversation about something else. After years of only really talking about one thing, you were surprised to learn how much you really did have in common. Even when the waitress took your desert away and the various patrons filtered out, you were still talking. You felt so comfortable and free. Like you could tell him anything, and like you could listen to him talk forever. You couldn't have imagined a better date.

This time, when you fumbled with your keys at the door, it wasn't because of nerves. And Bruce knew that. So he held your chin at his fingertips and leaned forward just enough, just enough...

And you kissed him. Long and hard and slow, taking in every detail, from the way his lips slid against yours to how his mouth tasted to the feeling inside your chest that told you this was exactly where you belonged.

When you said goodnight, and watched him walk down the halls, you had one thought.

"That's my Bruce."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you liked this chapter!! I don't really know where I'm going with this at the moment, so if you have any suggestions/requests/ideas, I'd be happy to hear them!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some very important things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I am so excited for this chapter.  
> Originally, I wasn't going in this direction but I just started writing and it all flowed out so here we are!  
> Enjoy loves 😘

After Chile, Bruce took a detour every single night by your apartment to make sure everything was alright. He still did, even if you had just gotten back from your date hours ago. Unbeknownst to you, the Dark Knight would light on the roof of your building and lower himself on quiet feet down the fire escape, right by your window. The blinds were always slightly drawn and he could peek in, just to see that everything was in its place. The visits became even more pressing after you started dating five months ago -- he knew the inherent risks of being Bruce Wayne's girlfriend and even though you insisted you weren't worried, he was.

But tonight was a different kind of worry, when he found you on the rooftop at three in the morning. It was eerily similar to the night he had first met you, with that wild, pained look in your eyes but steel in your stance. There was something far-away about you tonight that he couldn't quite place.

"[Y/N]?"

He emerged from the darkness but you didn't respond, eyes still glued to the Gotham skyline. Bruce took this as his cue to sit down next to you on the HVAC system, his boots hitting the cement while yours dangled above.

"Why do you love me, Bruce?"

Your question caught him by surprise. But you still didn't turn, didn't move. He thought for a moment, turning to watch morning light begin to brush the skyscrapers. There were a few cars here and there on the streets, but very few people. He wondered why you were still up.

"I love you because of who you are."

"And who do you think I am?"

You turned suddenly, with a look in your eyes that Bruce had never seen before. It was sharp and wild and full of grief, full of thoughts and emotions and memories that he couldn't make out. He was used to reading you like a book but tonight, you weren't the woman he knew. He removed his helmet so he could really look at you, trying to gauge what had brought this on.

"I'm not some sweet, innocent girl, Bruce," you whispered. "I've done horrible things. I've killed. I've stolen. I've hurt. I'm the daughter of Dimitri, heir to the throne of his mob, a princess of blood and darkness and pain. I'm crafty and dangerous and wanted by half the world for crimes you don't even know about."

"I don't have to know about those. I know you."

"But do you? Have you watched me strangle a man with my bare hands, crack his head against a wall, cut through his skin with a knife just so he'd give me information? Have you seen me fight? Have you seen where I lived? The place I grew up? The graves I visit and the names I once knew, the people I watched die in front of me!? There's blood on my hands, Bruce."

You were shaking now, but your voice was even, a terrifying stillness on you. But Bruce wasn't afraid. You could see it in his eyes.

"I know who you are," he insisted, and you shook your head. 

A choking, dry, pained sob escaped you and your body folded in on itself. Bruce held you like that against his chest while you cried. He had been expecting a moment like this. Once trauma has passed, it's easy for the victim to feel worse off than when they were being hurt. You were finally processing it all, and though it was painful, it was a sign that you were moving on.

You had never been a crier, never been one to let loose like this. But suddenly, a lifetime of pain was resurfacing, and your body shook with the force. But even as you sobbed and clung to him like a dying woman, Bruce kept on rubbing your back, kept on murmuring some words in your ear that you couldn't make out over the sound of your own crying. But as it all subsided, and you began to breathe again, you realized he was saying the same three words over and over again, in his strong, steady voice.

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

With one last sob, you sat up slowly, and Bruce released you. You couldn't look at him, though. Only at your hands.

"What kind of person am I?" You asked, and watched as one of his giant hands engulfed yours.

"You're my friend," he began, and kissed your temple gently. "My best friend. You're my girlfriend. My other half. You're the woman who risked it all to bring her own father down. The woman who had the strength to leave her whole world behind. The woman who could kill me in seconds but who I trust would never. The woman who's saved my life and my kids' lives more times than I can count."

You shook your head like you couldn't register it all, couldn't trust what he was saying. But Bruce kept right on talking.

"You're also the only person who can steal cookie dough from behind Alfred's back and believe me, I've tried more times than I can count. You're the woman who laughs at every rude comment Damian throws your way, the one who snorts at Dick's dark jokes, the one who Jason knows he can rely on for advice, the one Tim can ask the wildest questions of. You're the one who holds them when they're hurt. You're the mother some of them never had."

He kissed you again, this time on your cheek. You leaned in.

"You're smart, you're funny, and when you smile it's like nothing else matters. You laugh and it's like the clouds have lifted. You're stunning in everything, from the most tailored gala dress to nothing but your ratty old pajamas. You're the woman of my dreams. You're everything to me."

You began to shake your head again, slowly, tears still falling.

"I'm just [Y/N] Dimitri."

Bruce could hear the venom and pain in your voice when you spit out your father's last name. And he hated that. He snaked his arm around your waist and kissed your hair with as much love and tenderness as he could muster, and felt you relax against him.

"How does [Y/N] Wayne sound, then?"

You snapped out of his grasp, your head swivelling around faster than humanly possible.

"What?" 

Your voice was barely a whisper and Bruce had never seen you so shocked, or so hopeful.

"I said, how would you like to be Mrs. Wayne instead?"

There was a pause where you seemed to be frozen, your eyes blank, body still. He worried that he had pushed too far. You'd only been dating for five months, hadn't you? But how many years had he loved you? You quickly regained yourself and shifted in your seat.

"Hell yeah," you said quietly and Bruce busted out laughing, his head thrown back.

You found yourself smiling, stupidly, like someone who had lost their mind. You could hardly move out of shock, and you probably looked like you had died and come back to life but it didn't really matter because YOU WERE ENGAGED TO BRUCE WAYNE.

When he stopped laughing and you relaxed a little more, you took the time to watch him closely. He looked happy, and relieved and... At peace. You supposed you looked the same. Reaching out, you brushed your fingers along his jaw and let your eyes wander to his. You'd never felt so full and happy and in love.

Bruce watched you take it all in with nothing but devotion in his eyes, and that was the straw that broke the camel's back. You grabbed him by his thick Kevlar vest and yanked him down for a soft kiss, hardly able to stop smiling.

It was three in the morning and you'd never felt more alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how will they tell the boys? What will Alfred say? Will there be typical wedding shenanigans, or is there something sinister at work as the pair prepare to be married?   
> Who knows? Certainly not me.  
> What did you think?


	12. Author's Note + Final Words

My dear readers,

Before I begin, I ask that you read to the end. You can skip the note if you want, but I will be concluding the story after said note.

I'm writing today to make an announcement that will effect and will be posted on each of my chaptered stories.

For the time being, I will no longer be writing fanfiction on AO3.

This decision makes me sad because, after over a year of hard work, I have developed my stories and have written almost 150k words on this website. It has been an amazing place to gather feedback, to create a community, and to write for my own enjoyment. However, it has served its purpose, and has taken a turn that is not helpful.

I love my stories a LOT, and I love writing them. It has helped me become a better, more sophisticated writer. However, it has consumed me and parts of my life in a way that is not healthy. I no longer write things for my own work, and the novel I have been planning has fallen aside.

I have a job, an internship, a small business, school, and many other big responsibilities that demand my attention more than AO3 does, and though this past year has been extremely valuable to me, I need to let it go. Because of my addiction to fanfic writing, I have spent late night hours writing when I really needed sleep. I have written rather than doing important assignments. And I have neglected to write towards my novel, which was the original reason I joined; so I could improve my writing for said novel.

I turn seventeen in a few days. I will be starting a brand new chapter in my life, with new responsibilities and as a new person than the girl who began this over a year ago, and I don't want to be held back.

That being said, I really hope you know that I love you. The community on AO3 has changed my writing in radical and amazing ways, and I cannot thank you enough.

If you want to be in the news loop for my new novel, you can sign up for an email list on my business accounts. My business email and Instagram will be listed after this paragraph. I'd be happy to share my progress and also little snippets of the story as I go along.

serendipityscribbles@gmail.com

@lotte_art_ 

I know this is sudden. Thank you for understanding. I love you all so much!

And now, closing remarks on our story:

[Y/N] does marry Bruce. The boys are esctatic. And five years after the wedding, Gotham crime is at an all-time low. The dynamic duo of Batman and what locals call "The Gotham Angel" has brought drastic change to the streets and left Gotham with hope.

Alfred is more than happy when a brand new baby joins the manor. And then another. 

He passes away surrounded by the Wayne family, with his "grandchildren" on either side. The funeral is a quiet one.

And when the happy couple are declared missing at seventy-five and seventy-eight during the collapse of the Wayne Enterprise management building, their grown-up family is thrown into a frenzy. It isn't long until they find their parents in a cave of rubble, holding each other tightly, eyes shut and smiles on their faces.

Gotham mourns.

And when the city discovers their identities, the streets are filled by the people whose lives were changed by the superheroes.

Even though it takes awhile for the sadness to wear off, you and Bruce aren't sad.

No, you got your happy ending. And it was all worth it.


End file.
